[GUILD HALL – MIDDAY]
The heavy oak doors slam open so hard they rattle the weapon racks. A blood-soaked runner barely eighteen, guild badge hanging crooked on his shoulders, stumbles in, gasping, eyes wild.
RUNNER
S-Class! S-Class monster in the old C-rank dungeon under Blackroot Hill! It tore through the entire party only three of us made it out! We need Platinum now! We need you Marla.
The hall goes quiet. Eyes turn to the mission board, then to the handful of high-rankers lounging near the bar.
Only two Golds are present today: broad shouldered Garrick with his doubleheaded axe, and lean, scar faced Lira with twin curved blades. Solid, but Gold. Against an S-Class breakout in a low-rank dungeon? Suicide.
Marla, leaning against the counter with a cup of bear halfway to her lips, sets it down slowly. One cold eye narrows.
MARLA
(quiet)
S-Class in C-rank. That's has barely been heard of. Why now. (She thought to herself)
She stands. The runner flinches.
MARLA (cont'd)
Garrick. Lira. Gear up. Your coming with me.
GARRICK
(grinning despite the tension)
Platinum grace? Didn't think you still dirtied your boots for dungeon crawls.
MARLA
I don't. But something about this stinks.
(to the wide-eyed newbie she'd been training, a freckled kid named Tobin)
You're in charge till I'm back. Don't burn the place down.
Tobin nods frantically, clutching a ledger like a shield.
[BLACKROOT HILL – C-RANK DUNGEON ENTRANCE – LATE AFTERNOON]
The mouth of the cave yawns black, littered with broken shields and crimson streaks. The survivors huddle outside one barely conscious, one babbling.
SURVIVOR 1
(hoarse, shaking)
No no why did you come? He'll kill us all!
MARLA
(raising an eyebrow)
He?
SURVIVOR 2
It speaks. It… it asked for you. By name.
Marla exchanges a glance with Garrick and Lira. The two Golds grip weapons tighter.
From the shadows inside the tunnel, a low voice young, calm, almost polite echoes.
VOICE
You betrayed them, Marla.
Marla freezes. The voice is too human. Too familiar.
MARLA
(under her breath)
It speaks.
A shape steps into the weak daylight.
Not a monster.
A boy. Maybe sixteen. Tall, lean, black veins threading across pale skin like cracks in porcelain. Scales glint along his forearms and neck familiar scales. His eyes are black pits, no whites, just endless nothing. Blood crusts his hands; fresh blood.
Marla's single eye widens.
MARLA
Wait… do I know you?
The boy closes the distance in a blink, faster than she could react. He stops inches from her, close enough she can smell the frost on his breath.
BOY
(soft, almost sad)
Monaki sends his regards.
His hand moves too quick to track.
A single slash.
Marla's head tumbles free, expression still locked in surprise. Her body stands a heartbeat longer before collapsing in a wet heap.
Garrick roars, axe already swinging in a brutal overhead arc.
GARRICK
You little…
The boy doesn't dodge. He catches the axe mid-swing with one bare hand. Metal screams as it bends. Garrick's eyes bulge.
The boy twists. Garrick's arm snaps at the elbow like dry wood. He screams.
Lira lunges from the side blades flashing in a whirlwind of steel. She's fast, precise, deadly.
The boy smiles, almost pitying.
He sidesteps. One hand snaps out, fingers curling around her throat. She gasps, blades clattering. He lifts her like she weighs nothing.
LIRA
(strangled)
What… who.. are you?
BOY
(tilting his head)
Name's Ruben.
He squeezes. Bone cracks. Lira goes limp.
Garrick, clutching his ruined arm, tries one last swing desperate, sloppy.
The boy steps inside the arc, drives a scaled fist through Garrick's chest. Armor crumples like paper. Garrick coughs blood, eyes rolling back.
The boy pulls his hand free, red to the elbow.
Silence.
The three survivors outside stare, frozen.
The boy turns to them slowly.
BOY
(quiet)
Tell the guild: the debt's not paid yet.
He walks back into the dark.
The dungeon swallows him.
Outside, the survivors collapse, sobbing.
The wind howls over Blackroot Hill.
Somewhere far away, in a warehouse safehouse, Monaki sits sharpening a blade. He pauses, as if listening to something only he can hear.
A faint, cold smile touches his lips.